I can remember the disgust I felt when I saw the
cartoon on the opinion page. It ran alongside an editorial against gays in the
military. The picture was of a line of soldiers marching along, and their name
tags all said "Gay." All but the last one. He wasn't a person, just a skeleton
in a uniform. His name tag read "AIDS."

I don't have AIDS. I'm not even HIV positive. But
I have friends who are PWA's, or People with AIDS, and I have other friends
who are gay and in the military. I was angry, not just for them, but for me.
As a lesbian, I was as much a target as everyone else in the community, whether
I was military, HIV, or not. I put the paper down, feeling helpless.

Just thinking about the cartoon made me angry, and
the anger made my stomach hurt. That's typical of this town, I thought. It'll
never change.

The city seemed to be under the power of Rush Limbaugh.
The conservative talk show host, who I thought was a jerk, even had several
dining rooms named after him all around town. People would gather in them to
watch his show, and then repeat whatever he'd said. Personally, the guy made
me ill.

But this town was crazy over him, and we even had
our own radio jerk that was just like Limbaugh. This guy would bring on liberal
speakers from out of town who had no idea what they were in for and proceed
to tear them apart on the air. Since he had control of the phone panel, and
everyone was asked what their question was before they were put on the air,
the only listeners who got through to talk were the conservative "ditto-heads"
that would help the host rip the guest apart. I always wondered if the guest
actually walked to his car, or had to be carried out.

I'd never realized just how conservative this town
was until I started reading the editorial page of our only newspaper. I checked
the history of the paper for a journalism class I was taking, and found out
that the paper had never once supported civil rights. In the sixties, it had
blasted the Civil Rights Bill, and encouraged petitions against it. According
to one of the editorials, "if colored people don't have jobs, it's because they
don't want to work. Who wants to hire a lazy Negro?" Any other paper would have
been burned to the ground for something like that, but it was such an accurate
display of the city's feelings that no one really cared. Everyone else in the
nation had enough to do keeping up with the south; who cared what was happening
at a small town newspaper in the west.

Our state had just passed an amendment that took
away the rights of a minority group. That became the last straw for me, and
I joined a gay political group devoted to civil rights for everyone, with no
regard to color, race, religion, physical or mental disability, sex, or sexual
orientation. I tried hard to keep up with events, but really hadn't done any
more than go to the general meetings, and a couple fundraisers. It wasn't that
I didn't agree with what they were doing, I just didn't know what I could do
to help.

There was a general meeting at the office that night.
I climbed the three flights of wooden stairs to the office at the end of the
hall. It was a small room in a small building. There were two windows, and since
one of them stretched onto a part of the roof, the smokers usually sat outside
of or next to the open window. There were never enough chairs, so people sat
on tables and on the floor. One of the younger dykes had climbed to the top
of the file cabinet. Normally these meetings were pretty simple and quick; people
gave reports on what their committees were doing, and the group either approved
or didn't. There was a report from the treasurer, and then we'd break up. By
the time the meetings were over everyone was tired from the heat.

I looked for Tina like I always did. She was near
the back, sitting on a table top, and propping the wall up with her back. She
waved for me to join her, then pushed Julie over to make room.

"Girlfriend, we are in for trouble tonight."

"Why, what's up?"

"Did you see the paper today?"

"Yeah. So?"

She stared at me. "Did you read the op-ed page?"

"The what?"

"The opinion page! Did you read it?"

"Yeah, but what . . . oh. The cartoon."

"Yeah, the cartoon. Sam's been on a rampage all day.
I don't think this is going to be a regular meeting -- at -- all."

It looked like she was right. Sam was there, and
he was fired up. I could see the newspaper in his hand, and I thought about
the cartoon.

After the preliminaries, Sam said he wanted to talk.
Everyone knew he was steamed and not many people had ever seen Sam get angry.
They were quiet. For a moment he just stared at the table.

"Did everybody see the editorial cartoon today?"

A few people murmured yes, others just nodded.

"I hope he goes impotent, the little homophobe." That
brought a chuckle to the room. Melissa, our resident drag queen, and proud of
it, was settling back in her chair. Sam looked at her and tried to smile.

"What are we going to do about it?"

Nobody spoke.

"Well? Any suggestions?"

"Did anybody call the paper?"

Sam bristled. "I did. I even spoke to the artist,
Don Atwater."

"What did he say?"

"Nothing. He just laughed at me over the phone."

Suddenly it wasn't just Sam who was angry.

"He laughed?"

"You're kidding."

"That son-of-a-"

"Yeah, he laughed. Then he hung up on me. For some
reason he didn't seem to care." Sam slapped the paper on the table. The sound
made me jump.
"So, I repeat, what are we going to do about it?"

I looked around the room. People were avoiding looking
at Sam. They looked uncomfortable.

"Well, come on, people." Melissa's face was almost
as red as her dress. "Say something. We can't just let this limp dick get away
with this."

"What do you suggest, Melissa?"

"Honey, I suggest we moon-at-noon him. But no one
ever agrees with me."

People were positively laughing and even Sam was
smiling now.

I noticed Helen was watching the crowd. Then she
stood up.

"I have some ideas. I met with my committee before
coming here. We thought something should be done as well. We're prepared for
action."

Sam looked pleased. "What's your idea, Helen?"

"We actually came up with a couple. The first one
is that we spray all of the paper boxes in town with fake blood."

There was a general groan throughout the room. Only
Sam smiled.

"I think this town, and this group, is just a little
too conservative for that. The second idea?"

Helen frowned. "I don't think you'll like it much
better. We were planning on going over to the Evening Gazette and paint the
word homophobia on the side."

There was another groan. Julie stood up. "Wait a
minute. I think it's a good idea. It's immediate, it's a demonstration, and
it's non-destructive. And if we follow it up with a literature campaign, it
will at least make people think. If we get vocal enough, there might even be
a retraction in the paper."

Bruce laughed at that. "How long have you been in
this city, Julie?"

Sam stopped the general laughter in the room. "Well,
we have a proposal on the floor from the Action committee. I take it, Julie,
that you second this proposal?"

Julie nodded. "Absolutely."

"Discussion?" Sam really didn't want to ask the question,
I could tell.

It led where I thought it would. The proposal was
defeated, by six votes. Sam looked positively grim. Tina was cussing under her
breath.

"Do we have any other proposals?"

There was general silence in the room. Then Theresa
stood up. "Look, Sam, I was upset about the cartoon as well. But is it really
worth fighting the paper? Atwater just cranks out what everyone in this city
feels. Do you really want to take on this town over another issue? Haven't we
got enough on our hands with the battle over the Amendment?"

I could see heads shaking all over the room. I was
close to joining them. Tina was looking angrier by the second. Sam sighed.

"Theresa, I'd love to let this thing drop. But I
can't. I've lived in this city for 12 years, and I've never felt as angry with
it as I do tonight. It's one thing to make a decision, or hold a political position.
It's another thing to take shots at a group of people because of an illness."

Theresa frowned. "But, Sam..."

"Besides, do you really think what the paper does
and says has no effect? People believe the crap that rag prints. They read it,
and act on what they've read. If we don't do anything, they'll just keep printing
stuff like this and then you'll have the violence against PWA's skyrocketing.
And Atwater won't stop there. He's done cartoons like this before, only not
as obvious. The paper has written editorials against us before, and if we don't
act, they'll do it again. And again. Until the violence isn't just against the
people with AIDS, but against everyone in our community, everyone in this very
room. You think you're safe, Theresa? Just because I have AIDS and you don't
doesn't mean they won't come after you."

Sam was almost out of breath. Bobby, his lover, was
pulling him into a chair.

I don't know exactly what made me do what I did.
Maybe I was just tired of sitting quietly. Maybe Sam's speech had struck a chord.
All I knew was I suddenly standing. Eyebrows were raised as I began to speak.

"I'm with Sam. This town needs some shaking up. Atwater
needs to know we're not going to sit on our hands while he spreads hate and
fear through his pictures. Maybe striking the building isn't a good idea. But
we have to do something to protest this."

At first there was silence, and I almost sat down
again. But Tina stood up beside me, and put her hand on my shoulder. "Rae's
right. We have to protest."
Helen stood up.

"Protest! Excellent idea. We could do a non-violent
protest in front of the Nazi Gazette."

Slowly the idea caught on.

"The Gazette's building is downtown..."

"If we make enough noise, we might even bring out
some cameras..."

"We could have people with signs saying..."

"We could..."

"I think a march is a great..."

When the idea of a protest was brought to a vote,
it passed, with only three people against. We spent the rest of the evening
trying to put the pieces together. It was agreed Sam would make all press statements.
I surprised everyone, including Tina and myself, and agreed to be a peacekeeper.
The protest was to be held that Friday, at noon, so there would be plenty of
people around. That gave us Wednesday and Thursday to prepare.

Helen was specifically told that there would be no
fake blood. She frowned. "The committee will be so disappointed."

Melissa caught Tina and me on our way out the door.

"Have a drink with me, girls?"

"Sure." Tina sounded twice as enthused as I felt.
"At the Peak? I've been dying for a beer."

"The Peak. Sounds good. I'll meet you there."

I tapped Tina's arm. "Hey, I think I'm just gonna
head home. Stuff to do tomorrow and all."

"Oh, no. You're going with me. You can sleep late
tomorrow, and get everything done in the afternoon. Tonight, I'm buying the
beer."

"Tina..."

"No arguing." She pulled my car keys out of my hand.

"Okay. But not the Peak. Anyplace but the Peak."

"What's wrong with the Peak?"

"Nothing . . . I just . . ."

She grinned. "Oh, yeah. J.J. hangs out there." She
looked around at the people leaving. "Where was she tonight, anyway?"

I couldn't look at her. "There was a pool tournament."

Tina laughed. "The Peak. That's final."

She headed out the door with my keys, and I had no
choice but to follow.

The Peak was a country-western bar on the West side
of town. Although it was originally meant to be a men's bar, the women moved
in quickly, and before anyone knew it, the bar was a mixture of men and women,
straight and gay alike. It was kind of like stepping into a foreign world where
nobody cared who you fell in love with. We thought of it as a refuge from the
rest of our city.

Tina slammed her door and waited for me to get out.
When I didn't move, she came around and leaned halfway through the window.

"What's up, girlfriend?"

I shook my head. "Are you really going to make me
go in there?"

"No. You can stay out here in the truck if you want.
But you'll miss out on the fun."

I just sat there.

"What is it, Rae? Are you afraid to face J.J.?"

"Not afraid, really, just . . .nervous."

"Why? J.J.'s cool. If you have to have a crush, at
least you picked the right person."

"Did I?"

"Yeah. I like J.J. And I happen to know that she
- likes - you."

"I suppose you told her that I have a crush?"

"Hell no. Didn't have to. She knew from the way you
never come close enough to talk to her. She thinks it's cute."

"Right, cute."

"So, what's the problem? You know she's here, you
can see her cycle by the wall. Just go in and talk."

"I -- I can't."

"Why not?"

"Well, she's -- just -- she's --"

"Yeah?"

"She just seems . . . I don't know. Dangerous."

Tina grinned. "I know. And she is. That's
why you like her so much."

Melissa was waiting for us in a corner booth. She
was lazily eyeing the bartender, Mike, who was eyeing her right back.

"Hey, Mike, two beers for my friends over here!"
Mike grinned, and waved.

"So, Melissa, how do you think the meeting went?"

Melissa frowned. "Those people are almost as conservative
as Republicans."

"Most of them are Republicans. They're just gay Republicans,"
I said.

"I know that, but do they have to act like those of
us who have AIDS are lepers? For Chrissakes, we're the same as them."

"Easy, 'Lissa. We know how you feel." Tina patted
her on the hand.

"Do you, Tina?" The look in Melissa's eyes was sad.
Her gaze locked with Tina's and they stared at one another for a moment.

Mike came up with the beer just then. He slowly set
them down in front of Tina and me, and then placed a glass of white wine in
front of Melissa.

"For you, milady."

"Why, Michael! Thank you! How can I ever pay you
back?"

Mike grinned. "I get off in 30 minutes. We could
talk about it over another drink -- at my place?"

Melissa smiled. "I thought you'd never get around
to asking."

Mike leaned over and kissed her, then sauntered back
to the bar.

Melissa watched him go, sighing. "Oh, what great
buns. Ah, well." She looked at Tina and winked. "I could probably get a date
for you, Tina, and we could double."

"No thanks, 'Lissa. I have this thing about 3 legged
people... they just don't fit in my bed."

"Tsk, tsk."

"By the way. Mike smeared your lipstick."

Melissa looked horrified. "He did? Oh, God." She
whipped out her compact and looked closely at her image. "He did!" She stood
up. "Excuse me, girls, but I've gotta do some repair work. Be right back!"

Tina watched her head for the men's room, and she
laughed. "I love playing with 'Lissa." She turned to me. "You doing okay?"

I glanced at Melissa's wine glass. "Tina, you don't
think... I mean... he's not gonna..." I nodded at Mike. "...you know."

She looked puzzled. "No, I don't know, what are you
talking about?" She followed my gaze over to Mike, and then looked at Melissa's
wine glass. "Oh. I got it. Yeah, they'll probably go to Mike's place and do
what the animals do."

I shook my head. "But, Tina, Melissa has ... he's
got AIDS."

"So? What does that matter?"

"Should he really be --"

"Rae, haven't you heard of safe sex?"

"Of course, but --"

"No but's. Around here it's safe sex, or no sex.
And believe me, Melissa knows how important that is."

I nodded, and started peeling the label off my beer.

"By the way. It's not 'he'."

"What?"

"You were calling 'Lissa 'he'. It's she."

I stared at her. "But, Tina, he's..."

"In drag tonight. Any time a crossdresser is in drag,
they become that sex, and that's how they should be referred to."

"Oh. I see."

Tina grinned. "Poor Rae. You really need an education."

Melissa dropped down onto the seat. "Rae needs an
education? Oooh. Can I give it to her?"

Tina shrugged. "Be my guest. I'm gonna go dance."
She stood up. "If I'm not back before you're ready to leave, then come get me."
She started toward the dance floor, but then stopped. "Hey, Rae . . . J.J.'s
playing pool. I'm sure she'd love for you to chalk up her cue."

Melissa laughed again and finished her wine. I finished
peeling the label. It had come off in one piece. Only the glue was left on the
bottle.

"Hey, that's good luck, girlfriend. That's a fuck-tab."

"Huh? What's a which?"

"That label. When you peel the label off a beer bottle
and it comes off in one piece, it's called a fuck-tab."

"Okay." I must have still looked a little puzzled,
because Melissa leaned forward, this flabbergasted look on her painted face.

"You've never heard of a fuck-tab?"

"No. Enlighten me."

"If you happen to have one of those lucky labels,
you find someone who you're hot for and give it to them. "

"Oh." I waited. So did she. "And then what?"

There was something just a little devilish in her
grin. "Then you go to their place and have really hot sex with them."

My ears were on fire. "You're kidding."

She shook her head. "Babydykes. I luv'em."

Mike got a break from the bar a couple of minutes
later. He and Melissa were soon on the dance floor, staring into each other's
eyes. Feeling strange by myself at the table, I went to the bar. I had just
finished my beer when the new bartender put a fresh bottle in front of me.

"I didn't order this," I tried to say. He pointed
over my shoulder. Before I could turn around, J.J. was sitting on the stool
beside me.

"Hey, Rae."

"Hey, J.J." She was only a few feet from me, and
I could smell the mix of cologne and leather. I glanced at her just enough to
see that she was in blue jeans and a leather vest.

My face was already hot.

"I just passed 'Lissa on the dance floor. She said
you had something for me."

I looked up at her, puzzled. "She did?"

"Yeah. She said it was something I should ask for,
because you'd be too scared to give it to me."

The heat was spreading out from my face. I knew what
'Lissa had meant.

"It's nothing. You don't really want it anyway."

She shifted on her stool, and I could hear the creak
of her leather. "How would you know whether or not I want it? You never asked
me."

"I just don't think you would."

"Well, why don't you let me decide?"

I could see Tina and 'Lissa watching from the table.
If I didn't give it to her, I'd get razzed for weeks. I pulled the beer label
out of my pocket and put it on the bar. Then I just stared at my beer and waited.

J.J. reached down and picked it up. Neither of us
spoke as she turned it over and over in her hand.

"So. Do you want to give this to me?"

I took a swallow of beer and nearly choked. J.J.
slapped me on the back till I stopped coughing. When I glanced up she was grinning.

"Cool." She folded it in half and put it in her wallet.
Then she grinned at me. "Don't worry, I won't forget that it's there, or who
gave it to me."

My face was getting red again.

"Listen, I have to go out of town till Friday. How
about we do something when I get back?"

"Okay. "

She pulled out a pen and slid a clean napkin to me.
"Write your number on this, and I'll call you when I get back. "

J.J. slid my number in next to the beer label. She
finished her beer and put her wallet in her back pocket. Then she grabbed my
collar and kissed me. When I opened my eyes, she grinned, and was gone.

The scent of leather was still in the air when Tina
came up and tapped my shoulder. "Am I too late to rescue you?"

I couldn't think clearly. "Rescue me from what?"

"From J.J. She's dangerous, remember?"

"Tina, I've decided I like danger."

As we walked out I could see J.J. warming up her
bike in the corner of the parking lot. I noticed her watching me, and turned
away quickly.

As TIna climbed into her truck and started the motor,
I hugged Melissa. She squeezed me really tight. Then she held me at arm's length
and looked at me.

"You know something, Rae?"

"What?"

"You'd look great in drag."

I broke out laughing and stammered that she'd never
get me into a dress.

She laughed with me. "Silly, girls in dresses aren't
in drag. But dykes in tuxedos... Now that's drag."

"Are you saying I'd look good in a tux?"

"Absolutely."

Tina leaned out the window. "Rae, come on."

"Yeah, yeah."

I headed for the passenger door.

"Tina, don't you think Rae would look great in a
tux?"

"Sure. Why?"

J.J. came cruising up on the Tina's side of the car.
She stopped behind Melissa.

"Well, I just think she should come out for lesbian
drag once in a while. She'd look wonderful in a tuxedo," Melissa said.

J.J. interrupted. "Of course, with those buns of hers,
she'd look even better with nothing. Ciao, gang." She roared off.

Melissa was standing with a hand over her mouth.
I slammed the door and told Tina to step on it. She laughed all the way back
to my car. She was still laughing when I got out and drove home.

The night before the protest there was a meeting of
the peacekeepers at Riki's, a downtown cafe. The people there were part of the
liberal crowd, and several were wearing "Straight But Not Narrow" t-shirts,
or buttons that said "No one knows I'm gay." It was a great place to be if you
wanted to be social in a serious manner.

We were there to discuss basic techniques of peacekeeping.
What are the best methods of diffusing a situation, and the rules for being
a peacekeeper: no touching the person, always work in a team, never raise your
voice, and if there's a fight, let the police take care of the fighters. Our
main job was to make sure our marchers didn't get involved in any skirmishes
with someone lined up against us. Everyone was saying our security was pretty
much just precautionary, but I could tell there was tension beneath the surface.
If anything went wrong the next day, the Evening Gazette would have a
field day.

Afterwards, I wandered off to my favorite video game,
stationed in the back of the cafe. I had never gotten past the sixth level of
Tetris, and I was convinced I never would. Once again, I got to the very edge
of the sixth level, and died with two rows to go.

I heard someone clapping behind me. When I turned
around I found Sam grinning.

"Nice job! You nearly had that last level."

"Yeah, well, nearly doesn't get to the seventh. I've
never gotten through that screen."

"Don't worry. You will. You just have to stop fighting
with yourself, and do it. Don't even think about it."

"Right. Don't even think about it."

He grinned again. "That's what I always do, anyway."

"How far have you gotten?"
"Level five."

I stared at him for a moment, then we both laughed.

"Have a cup of coffee with me?" he asked.

"I don't drink coffee. It's bad for your health."

"Like I care. Iced tea instead?"

"Sounds good."

We grabbed one of the smaller tables near the back.

"Tina told me you've got a crush on J.J."

I watched the ice melt in my drink. "Maybe."

"I've known J.J. for a long time. She'll be good
for you, Rae."

I nodded, then said, "Tina says she's dangerous."

"Well, I guess she is. In a way. I'm glad she's on
our Action Committee. She can be pretty forceful."

"Is she going to be at the rally, do you think?"

"I hope so. Her plane from Chicago gets in Friday
morning. She was going to drive right over to the protest."

"How long have you known her?"

"About eight years. She's Bobby's cousin, you know."

"No, I didn't know."

"Yeah. As a matter of fact, she introduced us. At
the second March on Washington. J.J.'s quite an activist."

"Why doesn't she go to more of the general meetings?"

Sam laughed. "If she'd been at the last one, she
probably would have stormed out half way through. J.J.'s used to real activism,
like chaining herself to the gate of the Governor's house. She works with the
Action Committee, and tries to keep things stirred up there. But other than
that, she stays away so she won't disrupt anything."

I thought about that for a minute while Sam got some
lemon for his tea. When he came back he said he wanted to thank me for speaking
up at the general meeting.

"No sweat. I just --" I shrugged, "I don't know.
Felt like saying something, I guess."

"A lot of people still can't understand why this
is so important."

I wasn't sure I understood, but I nodded.

"You know, I wish you'd speak out more often. As a
native of this city you have insights we don't have. You know the territory.
We could really use you."

I didn't know what to say. "I don't think there's
anything I could really do, but thanks, Sam."

"There's a lot you can do. You have good ideas. You
could be a leader in this group."

I had to laugh. "Me? Sam, I'm scared of crowds, I
don't like to be around a lot of people, and it takes all the courage I have
just to walk in the door at the meetings. To use a cliche', I'm scared of my
own shadow."

Sam leaned forward. "So am I. So is practically everyone
in this organization. The only thing we have that you don't is experience. And
you'll get that." He coughed and took a sip of water. Then he started again.
"You know what the situation in this town is, right?"

"Yes."

"You know what could happen tomorrow, don't
you?"

I hesitated, then nodded. I knew there could be a
riot.

"I want you to make a speech at the protest."

I stared at him. "Me?"

"You."

"You must be joking. I'd freeze and you'd have to
pry the microphone out of my hand."

"I'm serious. Look, as a native you have a louder
voice than most of us. People in this town look at us as outsiders. You've read
the editorials. They think we're just here to agitate them."

"Sam, you've lived here a dozen years; no one can
call you an outsider."

"You know as well as I do they won't listen to me.
I've tried. A dozen years is nothing to the older families here. Besides, I'm
from California, and they really distrust Californians. But they're likely to
listen to you. After all, you've been here all your life."

"Hey, I spent six months away at college."

"Six months gone. And twenty something years in this
town."

I looked down at the table.

"Look, I don't want to push you into something you're
not ready for..."

"I'm not ready for this."

"All I'm asking is that you think about it. I really
believe you'd make a great speaker."

"I'm not ready for this."

He sighed. "Will you at least think about it?"

"Yes. But I'm not ready for this."

"Well, if you change your mind, call me."

"I'll think about it."

"I hope you will."

I said good-bye to Sam, and headed for the door.
When I looked back, he was in a coughing fit. Bobby was sitting beside him,
looking concerned and rubbing his back.

As I drove home from the restaurant, I followed a
big black pick-up truck through the downtown area. As we stopped for a red-light
I read their bumper stickers. One of them said "Hitler was right." Another said
"White Power." And there was a line of stickers along the top of the tailgate
that said "Hang the niggers," "Burn the jews," and "Kill the queers." I could
feel a cold spot in the middle of my back. They turned into the parking lot
of a bar, and as I passed them I could see the gleaming shaved heads through
the windows.

The rest of the way home I kept looking behind me
to see if anyone was there.

Friday morning I went down to the office to pick up
final instructions for peacekeeping. They were handing out orange and yellow
striped vests, and pink hats with black triangles. I put one on and looked at
myself in the mirror. Tina came up and looked over my shoulder.

"Cool. You look great. The cameras are going to really
pick up that hat."

Tina slapped me on the back. "Don't worry. It's not
like it's going coast to coast. It probably won't even make the early edition.
Goddess knows they don't want to waste time talking about a bunch of queers."

For some reason that upset me. "What d'you mean,
waste time. This is important, dammit."

Tina's eyes got a little wider. "Hey, chill, girlfriend,
I didn't mean I think it's a waste. I was talking about the news guys, that's
all."

"Maybe it's about time we made them do a piece on
the early news. It's about time they took notice of what's really happening
around here." I turned back and stared at the mirror. Was that reflection really
me?

Tina shook her head. "It's happening to you, too,
girlfriend."

"What is?"

She grinned. "You're becoming an activist."

People were beginning to gather at the office. We
were going to start from there and march down to the building that housed the
"Evening Gazette." It was almost lunchtime, and the streets were filling up.

Sam found me as I helped load the speakers for the
sound system in a car. He was very pale.

"You are ready, I'll make sure you won't freeze, and
everyone says stupid things at times."

"I have no idea what to talk about."

"Sure you do."

"No, I don't. Sam, this is your gig. You're the one
they'll listen to. Besides, I don't have AIDS."

He stopped and stared at me. His cheeks darkened,
and his voice dropped to a whisper. "You don't get it, do you?"

I didn't say anything.

"I thought you understood, but you don't. Look, it's
not about AIDS. It's not about gays in the military, or the Amendment, or even
the stupid cartoon, really. It's about you and I being treated as human beings,
equal to everyone else. It's about Pat and Cindy being allowed to marry, about
Heather not losing her job because she's a lesbian, about Frank and Chuck not
being beaten up just because they kissed in the street. It's about being free."

At first I thought he was really angry with me. Then
he hugged me, and kissed my cheek.

He grinned at me, and then headed for the front of
the line. As the main speaker he would be leading the march from the back of
a pickup truck. I finished loading the sound system, and rode to the protest
site with Tina to help set up. Sam's voice was ringing in my head.

We waited in front of the Gazette for the marchers
to get there. It was only four blocks and it didn't take them very long to be
in sight. Tina and I looked at each other and grinned. We had expected maybe
thirty people. It looked like there might be over sixty.

"Looks good so far," I said.

"Yeah. And it doesn't look like there've been any
problems."

"How can you tell?"

"I told Bobby to have the truck's flashers on if
there was anything happening."

I looked closely at the truck. The flashers were
off.

Bobby pulled up in front of the building and Sam hopped
down.

"Any problems?" Tina asked.

"Not really. People stared, some made remarks, but
for the most part everything's calm."

"Cool. You better head for the microphone. Rae and
I will help get the lines going."

"Don't forget to leave space for the camera crews."

"Got it. Go do your thing, Sam."

The peacekeepers divided everyone into two groups
and had each group form two lines. Each line would go back and forth, opposite
of each other, just outside the front of the building. We left just enough room
between the groups for people to get to the door, but made sure they'd have
to squeeze through to get there.

Sam's speech to the press went well. He answered a
couple of questions from the camera crews, and they took footage of the marchers.
Then they disappeared inside the building. They'd been invited in by the artist,
and the editor, so the paper could tell their side. They also had a catered
lunch in the air-conditioned office.

The chants started right after Sam's speech. The slogans
included "Civil Rights Now" and "We're here, we're queer, get used to it." Pedestrians
were re-routed by the police, and drivers that passed by while staring out the
window. Some honked, some gave us the finger. But everything was peaceful. The
other peacekeepers looked bored.

We'd been there about 45 minutes, and it was almost
1:00 when the truck pulled up. That cold spot appeared in my back again, and
I stared as the black pick-up stopped just down the block. I could see the outline
of the bumper stickers and the group of guys piling out of the back.

Tina touched my arm and I jumped.

"What's wrong, Rae?"

I pointed down the street to the gang that was approaching.
She whispered "Oh, shit, skinheads." Then she was off, nearly sprinting down
the steps. I saw her grab Sam's arm, and he turned. Then Tina was off to alert
all the peacekeepers, and Sam went to talk to the police.

The baiting started a few minutes later. The police
made sure the hecklers stayed on their side of the street, but we could still
hear their words. One of them pulled a small bible out of his ripped up denim
jacket and began quoting. The cry went up that we were abominations. God had
ordered our destruction.
People on the street were listening. A crowd gathered. The marchers were trying
really hard to ignore the taunts and the jeers. But I could see the clenched
teeth in some of the guys in our line. We had some skinheads in our crowd as
well and they were muttering that "those nazi's give us a bad name." My jaws
were locked tight as well. Tina's eyes reflected her fury.

That was the situation when the news crews came out
of the building. They sensed the tension in the air, and hung around just in
case. I hoped they would have nothing else to film.

Then Melissa arrived.

She was wearing her blue jump suit, with her wig
on, face painted, and long dangling earrings. She parked across and down from
the building, meaning she'd have to cross in front of the skinheads to get to
the march. When I saw her, I smiled. I thought she looked great. Even if she
was obviously a man.

It was sudden. The skinhead with the bible said that
all queers should be put to death by stoning. Suddenly, Melissa was struck by
a stone, and there was blood flowing from her cheek. She stopped and stared
back at the crowd. The chanting from the marchers died. Melissa gave the nazi
skinheads the finger.

Then everything erupted.

The hecklers became the bashers. Melissa went down
under their fists and clubs. The marchers broke the peacekeepers line and headed
for the rescue. The cameras were turned on.

I watched Tina for instructions. She was trying to
pull our people away from the riot, telling them to go home. I joined her. The
two of us got about six or seven of our former marchers out of the fray. Then
a club from a bald headed idiot caught me across the side of my head, and I
went down.

It was Sam who pulled me up. He was bleeding from
his nose, and holding his side in pain, but he pulled me from my knees and pushed
me towards a truck with its engine running. J.J. was driving. She helped me
get in, and several other people joined us. I passed out once or twice. I remember
one time waking to find Melissa's head in my lap.

The truck went to the hospital. They kept five of
us overnight: Melissa, with a concussion and 32 stitches; Joey, with broken
ribs; Carrie, with a broken jaw and concussion; me with a concussion; and Sam.

When my head finally cleared, Tina and J.J. were
with me. Tina told me about Melissa and Joey and Carrie, and stressed that I
would be fine. I asked about the news coverage.

"Actually, it was pretty good. It was on all three
news stations, and they all said the riot was started by the jerks from across
the street. They had film of the early part of the protest, and then footage
of the attack on Melissa. It was noted that most of the damage was done by them,
and they used weapons. We had a couple people who scored some hits with their
signposts, but nothing else."

"Anyone get arrested?"

Tina grinned. "Eleven. Eight skinheads, and three
members of our Action committee."

"What did they do? Besides defend themselves, I mean."

The grin widened. "They were throwing fake blood
at the skinheads. It accidently hit a couple of cops."

I had to laugh. Then I stopped.

"Hey. What about Sam? He wasn't looking good when
he pulled me off the ground. Is he okay?"

Tina didn't say anything for a moment, then shook
her head. J.J. moved to stare out the window.

"Nobody knows," Tina said. "We know he's in the hospital,
and we don't think it's good. But the doctors won't tell us anything until they
hear from his parents. Even Bobby can't find out, and he's going crazy. They
won't even let us see him."

"I thought Sam's parents were supportive."

"They are, but they're out of town. Bobby contacted
them, and they're flying back. But until they get here, we won't be told anything."

"Well, at least tell me if he was injured or what.
He was holding his side when I last saw him, and he had a bloody nose. Did he
get hurt worse?"

"I don't think so. After the end of the riot, he
collapsed. Bobby and I drove him to the hospital. When we told the emergency
room people that he had AIDS, I thought they were going to bust a gut getting
protective gear on. You should have seen it. Everyone there, whether they were
going to work on him or not, had a robe, gloves, and a mask on. It was like
the air around him was contaminated or something. Then they started to use the
same 'contamination alert' for everyone we'd brought in from the riot."

"That's stupid."

"What did you expect from this backward city?"

I sighed and rubbed my temple gingerly. "I don't know.
Maybe I thought the hospital would at least treat us like normal people."

"Ha." There was no humor in the word. "They've even
put Sam in a quarantined cubicle. No one's allowed in without protective gear."

"What, do they think he's going to throw his blood
at them or something?"

She half-grinned. "I don't know. But Sam always laughed
at such stupidity."

"I donıt think he's laughing now."

Tina left a few minutes later, and J.J. was still
standing at the window. I watched her for a moment. Then I asked if she was
okay.

³Yeah, Iım fine.² She turned and came back to the
bed. ³I think you just let yourself get conked over the head so you wouldnıt
have to pay up.²

I looked at her, puzzled.

³Pay up?²

³Yeah. On your fuck-tab.²

I grinned. ³Youıre gonna make my face red again.²

³Yeah, well, thatıs what you get. Besides, when I
said we should do something on Friday, I didnıt mean in the hospital.²

Sam's parents arrived that night. They immediately
told the hospital to release all the information to Sam's lover Bobby, and the
rest of our group. The doctors didn't like it, but they did it.

Sam had broken two ribs in the fight, but that wasn't
the real problem. He had pneumonia. He'd probably had it before the riot, but
nobody knew it. Between the broken rib, the pneumonia, and the general weakness
of his immune system, the prognosis wasn't good. They were pumping massive amounts
of antibiotics into him, but his lungs were still filled with fluid. Bobby sat
by his bed day and night.

Nobody wanted to leave the hospital. I was supposed
to stay in my bed, but I refused. Eventually the nurses gave up and allowed
me to sit in the waiting room with the rest of the gang. As the hours dragged
on, people either fell asleep, or went home. I sat there, even after Tina left.
My head was killing me, but I refused to go back to my room. J.J. sat beside
me and let me rest my head on her shoulder.

I didn't want to leave the area around Sam's door.
The cold spot in my back was spreading and I was scared.J.J. wrapped her jacket
around me and tried to keep me warm.

Near midnight, Bobby came out of the room to get a
soda. I asked quietly if I could go in. He said yes, and held the door open.

Sam looked like he was sleeping. His face was white,
but calm. I held his hand. He turned his head and looked at me.

"Hey, Sam." He smiled. "You better hurry up and get
well. If you don't there won't be anyone to organize these riots."

He shook his head. "Yes there will." I could barely
hear him.

"Don't talk, buddy. Just rest. You can tell me all
about it when you're well."

The smile faded just a touch. Then he tried to speak
again. I had to lean way down to hear the words.

"You can lead them."

I sat back up.

"Are you crazy? I wouldn't know the first thing about
it."

He just smiled. He coughed several times. He closed
his eyes again and squeezed my hand.

We sat there for several minutes, until Bobby came
back. Then I tried to let go of his hand. He held on. I leaned back over him
to hear him.

"Love you."

I smiled back at him.

"Love you, too, Sam. Get well."

I left him and went to my room. J.J. followed me.
I cried in her arms till dawn, and fell asleep.

When I got out of the hospital a day or so later,
I went to the office immediately to find out what was happening. I was shocked
when they told me.

"What do you mean, nothing's going on. We got attacked
by skinheads, Melissa's going to need cosmetic surgery, Sam's in the hospital,
and nobody's doing anything?"

"Well, what do you want us to do?" Frank asked sarcastically.
"Start another riot?"

I stared at him, startled.

That was exactly what I wanted to do.

Instead, I set up an around the clock vigil in the
park between the hospital and the Gazette. Tina, J.J. and I got hundreds of
people to write letters to the paper, and we rented a billboard right outside
the Gazette office building, charging them with every crime we could think of.
We hired another board and put Samıs picture on it. There was one word below
the picture: Hero.

A week later there was a raid on a house in the north
side of town. The police were looking for illegal weapons and drugs. They found
them. They also found a high-level meeting going on between the leaders of the
skinhead gang that attacked us, and some very prominent businessmen in the city.
Among them was editorial cartoonist Don Atwater. There was even a city councilman.

When the police informed a few skinheads that they
would face jail time for illegal possession of firearms, as well as their part
in the riot, they pointed the finger at Ashen, saying he had called them and
told them to break up the protest. He had been the silent leader of the ³Aryan
Skinheads for Christ² for three years.

Atwater was forced to resign. The paper tried to keep
everything quiet, but we weren't about to let that happen.

Frank, Tina, and I organized a press conference. It
was to be held in the park where the vigil for Sam was going on. J.J. and the
rest of the action committee would handle security. It was suggested that Bobby
should speak, and he accepted. But someone would have to pick him up and drive
him to the park and then back to the hospital. I volunteered to play chauffeur
for the day.

We were finishing things at the office when Bobby
found me.

³Rae, are you gonna speak at the press conference?²

³Bobby, youıre as bad as Sam. No. I am not ready to
be a speaker for this organization. When I am, Iıll let you know. Got it?²

He grinned. ³I got it.²

Bobby left the office, and J.J. and I were alone.
She came up behind me and rubbed my shoulders.

³Almost finished with the press release?²

³Yeah, almost. Are you hungry?²

³Starved. But I think we should get some food first.²

I slapped her hand. She sat down in the chair next
to me.

³Rae, can I ask you something?²

J.J. sounded serious, so I turned the typewriter off
and faced her.

³If you were going to speak, what would you talk about?²

I was tongue-tied. ³I donıt know. Iım not going to,
so why worry about it?²

³Iım just curious. Pretend you were up on that podium,
and you had this crowd that was listening to you, waiting for your words. What
would you say?²

I had to think about that for a minute. I stood up
and began to pace. I always think better when I pace.

³I donıt know, J. Iıd probably just say something
like discrimination is wrong. We need to stand up for whatıs right.² I stopped
in front of the window and stared out at the dark sky. ³You know, just before
the protest I was talking to Sam. He said that the rally wasnıt about the cartoon,
or the Amendment, or even about AIDS. It was about our rights as people. When
I saw him in the hospital, I understood what he meant.²

I turned back toward her.

³This fight isnıt about civil rights for gays and
lesbians, or bisexuals and transgenders. It isnıt about how weıre portrayed
in the press, or whether or not we can get a marriage license. Itıs not about
laws, and rules, and government. Itıs about people. You and me. Tina. Sam and
Bobby. Itıs about the courage Sam needs every morning, just to get up and go
through another day of pain. Itıs about Bobby having the guts to put a picture
of him and Sam on his desk at work. Itıs about simple things, like holding hands,
or kissing our lovers. Feeling safe in our cars, and our homes. But mostly,
itıs about our lives.²

I turned back towards the window. ³You know, Iıve
always loved Martin Luther King, and his speeches. He was so passionate, so
powerful. As a kid, I memorized part of the I Have a Dreamı speech, but I never
really knew what he was talking about. When I saw Sam in the hospital, I knew.
Itıs not about rights.ı Itıs about the freedom to love, and the freedom to
live. The legal stuff doesnıt matter. Our lives do.²

I stood there quietly, with my forehead pressed to
the glass. J.J. was silent for a moment, and then I heard her get up. I could
feel her arms go around me even before she moved them.

³Youıre ready. Whether you know it or not, you are.
And when you finally speak out, the whole world will listen.²

I turned and rested my head against her shirt. ³Iıd
be happy if anyone in this city would listen.²

The morning of the press conference I arrived early
to help Tina set up the sound system once again. When we finished with that
there was still almost two hours to wait. I wandered around the area for a while,
and then headed for my car.

I ended up driving around downtown and stopping at
Rikiıs for an iced tea. Then I decided to tackle the Tetris game. I donıt know
how long I stood there, punching buttons and pulling on the joystick. It felt
like hours. The ice in my tea had melted away, and I was sweating by the time
my quarter ran out. But when I looked at the top of the screen I was amazed.
I was halfway through level eight.

Looking up at the clock, I realized I had to pick
up Bobby in ten minutes. I left Rikiıs at a run.

Bobby was sitting outside Sam's room, his head down
in his hands. I was just about to approach him, when the door opened, and a
covered gurney was wheeled out. Sam's father was walking beside it, his hand
gripping the rail. Sam's mother sat down beside Bobby and they hugged each other
and cried.

I got it.

I didn't bother Bobby. Instead, I left my car at the
hospital, and walked the six blocks to the park. I took my time, my mind filled
with images of Sam.

I had never known anyone with more love and more courage.
In my mind Sam was a hero. His was a story of freedom. I thought about what
his message might be.

I got to the park just as the press conference was
beginning. J.J. started toward me, but when she saw my face she stopped. As
I passed her, I could see her hands were balled into fists.

Tina was introducing the speakers as they came to
the podium. When she got to the point where she was supposed to introduce Bobby,
I stood up and headed for the podium. J.J. looked at me with tears in her eyes
and nodded. Tina looked surprised, but she introduced me.

I wasnıt even sure what I was going to say. I thought
at first all I would do was cry.